


Possessive

by lockandminkey



Category: SHINee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:43:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5997364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockandminkey/pseuds/lockandminkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minho lets someone flirt with him in front of Key, and Key decides to remind him who he belongs to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possessive

Kibum has never been more frustrated with Minho in his life, and that’s saying a lot.

Minho was the proud captain of Yongin’s pride, the Yongin City FC soccer team, and had just lead the team to huge victory against their main rivals. A winning goal in the final ten seconds by Choi Minho had caused the entire stadium to erupt in cheers; even those rooting for the opposing team would admit it was truly an incredible shot.

But in the wake of this, Minho became swallowed up in press. Reporters fawned over him, he was featured in a slew of press conferences and invited to fancy dinner parties with other high-brow members of the sports community. Thrust into prominence, Minho’s efforts, his many years of training for the moment he’d achieved two weeks ago, a winning goal in the final seconds…it was all he had ever dreamed of and more. He had proved to the world just what he was capable of, and now here he was, basking in the glory his victory had earned him.

Kibum knows he should be more proud of his boyfriend, who was at last living his childhood dream of being a celebrated soccer player. It had been what he trained for every night for years; even now, three years into their relationship, Kibum could count on one hand how many days out of their relationship that Minho did not train. Kibum had been there, motivating him along the way, cheering him on. Now, in light of what had happened, Minho had brought him along to many of the dinner or cocktail parties he’d been invited to, like the one they’re at tonight. It would have been a great cause for celebration for the pair of them, if not for a glaring flaw.

Never once had Minho honestly answered as to just who Kibum was. He always told those who even noticed Kibum, a pharmacist who was about as far from the public eye as anyone could be, that Kibum was an assistant; someone who cleaned the clothes and brought water to the teammates. Anyone who asked why he brought his assistant along got the same answer, “He is helpful to us, he should share victories every once in awhile, too.” At this people would nod in Kibum’s direction and carry on talking to Minho.

That led them to where they are tonight. The cocktail party is alight with sparkling dresses and smartly fitting suits, buzzing with animated but professional banter. The occasion was to celebrate the building of a stadium which could be readily converted into a soccer pitch, basketball court, or hockey rink. Many high profile athletes, including Minho, were invited. Kibum thinks to himself that he’d much rather be at home, with his boyfriend to himself rather than awash in limelight, when he notices a startling trend.

The group of women Minho, with a forgotten Kibum at his left, has been chatting with have touched Minho with increasingly blatant intent.

“Mr. Choi,” one of them ventures flirtatiously, taking a step forward, “how do you get so strong?”

“Strong, wha…me?” Minho diffuses, never having been particularly good at taking compliments. “I stay active.”

Kibum’s eyebrows rise pointly. _Active indeed_ , he thinks, _but you’ll never admit my role in that._

Another woman from the group makes an even bolder gesture; she squeezes Minho’s bicep, pushing Kibum out of the way as she does, and Minho, unsure of what to say, allows it, almost proud of himself for garnering such attention. She palpates the bulk of his arm through the fabric of his suit coat, and Kibum wonders to himself if it is even possible to feel muscles through two relatively thick layers of fabric.

“Mmmm,” she coos in a voice that is not unlike a purr, “Minji was right, you _are_ strong.” She squeezes the muscle again before asking,

“Do you have the abs to match?”

Kibum gasps audibly, anger stewing within him at the shamelessness with which she flirts with Minho, especially when his boyfriend is _standing right next to her._

Minho blinks rapidly, unsure of what to say to her. He ends up stammering out “I’m not….that is, I, I think so?” and shrugging bashfully. Kibum normally finds Minho’s characteristic blushes to be endearing, but now…

One of her hands leaves his arm, and Kibum is enraged to see where it goes; she makes a move to feel through the fabric of Minho’s shirt, to confirm her suspicions, to touch those muscles that Kibum has seen develop slowly over many long years of training…

He snaps. Taking a step forward, thrusting himself back into the conversation, he takes a hold of Minho’s elbow, just below the woman’s hand.

“That won’t be necessary,” he juts in, trying to control the bitter frustration he feels, and the woman releases her grip on Minho promptly, more out of shock than compliance.

“I know you don’t know this,” he asserts with confidence, “but his significant other wouldn’t like you touching him like that.”

She burns bright red at this, but before she can apologize to Minho, Kibum tugs on the elbow he holds and informs them flatly that he and Minho “need to talk in private. There is something urgent we need to discuss.”

And with that, Kibum marches off to the outskirts of the room, pulling Minho along in his wake.

“What are you doing?” Minho blusters in as quiet of a tone as can be heard by Kibum in the din of the evening.

“What am _I_ doing?” Kibum returns, having brought them outside a door to a more humble looking dining area, one which had been designed for guest overflow, but had not been accessed by anyone the entire night. “Why’d you let her do that, Minho?”

Minho’s head cocks to the side, in a way that reminds Kibum adorably of their shared puppies, but he refuses to let such behavior distract him from his point.

Eyes livid with fury, Kibum spits out in a whisper that Minho knows what he means, and Minho makes no sign of understanding.

Kibum scans the room once, twice, and then pulls the door to the room open and ushers the pair of them inside. The motion sensor lights flicker to life as they enter the deserted space. Not wanting his words overheard, Kibum pulls Minho by the wrist as far away from the door as he can, to another door leading to what Minho assumes is a storage closet.

“You let them touch you like that,” Kibum hisses in pointed bitterness, “and you let them do it in _front_ of me! Is this a normal party for you? Are you always letting girls feel you up and down when I’m not around? Because you seem to have no problem doing it when I’m right beside you!”

Minho’s mouth goes dry as he realizes his error at last.

“Kibum,” he whispers anxiously, “I didn’t _want_ her to-”

“Then you should have stopped her!”

Minho’s face turns a scalding red, feeling hopeless that Kibum will ever realize his perceived innocence in this matter.  “I didn’t know how, I would never…I wouldn't…”

Kibum takes another step closer to him, looking him dead in the eyes, unmoved by his nervous rambling.

“You wouldn’t _what_?”

Minho became aware of it then; the intensity of his gaze, the heat with which Kibum stares at him…he knows Kibum well enough to know what it means. He chooses his next words accordingly.

“I wouldn’t want anyone else to touch me…no one else but you.”

Kibum gets closer, bringing them nearly nose to nose.

“Prove it.”

Before Minho can say another word, his blue tie is snatched in Kibum’s long fingers and he is yanking Minho down towards him, seizing him and taking control, bringing their mouths together in an open mouthed kiss. Kibum kisses him hard, and within a minute he is reveling in the rewarding sensation of Minho’s hot tongue against his.

Kibum takes a moment to place his hands on Minho’s hips and use his pelvis to pin Minho up against the door without separating the pair of them. Minho’s eyes were wide with shock at the initial contact, but as he finds himself sandwiched between the door and the pressure of Kibum against him, his eyes roll shut with pleasure. He sighs into Kibum’s mouth, spurring him on that much further.

With Minho right where he wants him, Kibum moves a hand up to take a fistful of Minho’s hair, his brow furrowed as he kisses him, ardent and hard and blatantly obvious in intention. Kibum knows Minho inside and out, and with that comes knowledge of every trait, every quirk, and every _weakness_ of his. Drawing on this, he slides his lips slightly lower, down at the underside of Minho’s jaw.

Minho’s head tilts back against the door to allow Kibum better access to his neck, where Kibum places hot, persistent kisses. Kibum places a slow, flat lick along the nape of his neck, right where he knows drives Minho crazy. Minho moans, hips rocking hard against Kibum, and Kibum pulls away.

“You…” Minho gasps, his voice thick with arousal, unable to open his eyes. “you stopped…?”

Kibum smirks. “You are so noisy,” he teases in a heated whisper, keeping his forehead pressed to Minho’s. “They’ll hear you, you know. They’ll hear you and know who you belong to.”

Minho moans again, this time at the passion of Kibum’s whisper and the words it insinuates, unable to help himself from grinding against Kibum in earnest.

Kibum slots a thigh between Minho’s legs.

“Is that what you want?”

Minho’s eyes open at last, and he flicks his tongue across his lips, regarding Kibum with imploring eyes.

“Kibum,” he begs, “ _Please_ kiss me again.”

Kibum does as he says, but it is an infuriatingly short peck on the lips; Minho wants to protest, but he feels the door give way behind him and knows immediately what Kibum means to do. Having opened the door, Kibum shoves Minho inside the storage closet, slams the door behind him, takes Minho by the shoulders and shoves him against the wall before kissing him passionately again.

Completely surrounded, Minho shamelessly steers Kibum’s hips so that he can feel his erection with his own, and he feels Kibum chuckle smugly against his lips. It is so very like Minho to so eagerly submit to him like this; indeed, within moments of pinning him up against the wall Minho has thrown his arms around Kibum’s neck and allowed himself to be kissed passionately, savoring the occasional bite Kibum places on his swollen lips, kissing him back with an abandon Kibum has never ceased to find incredibly arousing.

A huge hand makes its way to Minho's muscular thigh and tugs it in wordless command; Minho instantly complies, lifting his leg a little to hitch it around Kibum.

Minho absently notices a tugging sensation around his neck before he hears what sounds like his tie landing unceremoniously on the floor. His suspicions are confirmed when he feels Kibum open several of the buttons of Minho’s shirt, exposing his collarbones, and he opens his eyes again.

Kibum pulls away to nip at Minho’s clavicle, working the buttons torturously slowly, and Minho rasps,

“Do you need any help?”

Kibum meets his gaze; the room is dark and the pair of them have had their eyes closed the majority of the time that they have been in it, but Minho has adjusted to the lighting enough to see the hooded eyes of his lover harden at his question.

When Kibum does not answer, Minho moves his hands, bracing himself against Kibum’s shoulder with one and making to unfasten the remaining five buttons with the other. Kibum, however, takes Minho’s wrist in his hand and traps it up against the wall, parallel to Minho’s head.

“Mine,” he whispers huskily against Minho’s ear, resuming his task.

“Alright,” Minho consents, “You got it, you unbutton it then.”

With the last of the buttons undone, Kibum casts aside the shirt and suit jacket in a single, rough tugging motion, and Minho gasps at how surprisingly cool the wall feels against his bare spine. Kibum runs his fingers over Minho’s muscles, starting at the pectorals, tracing circles around them with a single finger, his touch just faint enough to make Minho whine, desperate for a firmer touch…

“That’s not what I meant,” Kibum purrs, shamelessly admiring Minho’s body, and then his head is back at the base of Minho’s neck, sucking at the skin there; one hand keeps Minho’s wrist against the wall, the other slides further down to trace the outline of his abs. Minho’s breath catches in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing spasmodically. He wants so badly to be touched, and yet he soaks in the attention, nerves focused on the three places his body is in contact with Kibum’s. A particularly hard suck accompanies the sensation of his belt buckle being unfastened and Minho moans aloud, the room echoing with the sounds of his anticipation.

“If you carry on that way,” Kibum warns, just barely moving away from Minho’s neck, “people are definitely going to hear you.”

Minho, however, either couldn’t or wouldn’t hear Kibum’s word of caution, because the second he splays an open palm against Minho’s erection through his boxers, Minho whines again. Pleased with himself, but not entirely ready to risk his boyfriend’s reputation yet, Kibum stifles the sounds by kissing him, as deep and primal as before. Even as he slides his tongue into Minho’s mouth, he expertly slides the boxers down just enough for him to take the base of Minho’s length in hand.

As he works his fist in rhythmic pumps, he plays to another weakness of Minho’s. Moving his jaw just slightly, Kibum runs his fingers through Minho’s hair until he reaches the back of his head, tugging on the strands, and sucks on his tongue the way he knows Minho loves.

Moving back slightly, he feathers his lips over Minho’s, their eyes remaining shut as the sound of heavy breathing fills the room.

“You…” Minho starts weakly, head tilted back against the wall. “You’re wearing…too much.”

Kibum opens his eyes and tilts Minho’s chin down towards him.

“Is that so?”

Minho nods urgently, voice breaking in a whine as Kibum increases the pace.

“Hmm. Well, given the circumstances…I’m not sure if you can handle that,” he giggles, low and sultry and full of smugness,

“You being so loud and all.”

Minho desperately fumbles for the buttons of Kibum’s slacks, sighing airly when his fingers find purchase.

“Can I…?”

Kibum nods as he mentally weighs his options. If he turns Minho around and takes him from behind, he will be able to use one of his hands to cover Minho’s mouth, which should prevent people from hearing him, if they haven’t already. But if he picks Minho up, has Minho support himself by locking his legs around Kibum’s waist and leaning his weight against the wall, he will be able to continue to tease Minho and make him look him in the eye as he fucks him. The second option will prevent him from being able to keep Minho quiet; Kibum’s arms will be occupied with assisting the soccer player in maintaining his balance. It is also Minho’s favorite position, which further increases the odds of him being overheard.

 _Perfect,_ Kibum thinks, deciding then and there to choose option two.

_After all, if people hear Minho, he will have no one to blame but himself. That’s what he gets after all, for letting people flirt with him in **front** of me._

He moves down, placing a quick kiss at the head of Minho’s erection as he coarsely casts his pants and boxers aside, making Minho gasp at the heat. Kibum has half a mind to finish this, here and now, but decides against it.

Minho moves to sink to his knees and help rid Kibum of his slacks, but when he tries, Kibum slams him against the wall by the shoulder.

“That won’t be necessary,” he informs Minho crisply, and Minho is reminded of how he had said those same words to the woman who had tried to touch his abs.

His abs.

“Kibum,” he complains as the man in question casts both pairs of pants aside. “You kept your shirt?”

“And?”

“It’s…it’s not fa..fair,” he starts, his protest melting away into sighs as Kibum places hot, open kisses and licks over his neck again.

“Not fair, hmm?” Kibum murmurs, moving back to his collarbones.

“Lying about your boyfriend wasn’t fair either.”

Minho cannot argue with this; he allows Kibum to suck even more angry purple and red blotches along his neck and clavicle for a few moments before Kibum orders him to turn around.

Minho balls his hands into fists as he leans against the wall on his forearms, anticipation pounding through his veins, waiting for Kibum to do something, anything, make any sort of contact…

A strangled cry escapes him as he feels a tongue running down his spine, stopping at the base, where Kibum places a quick kiss, and then contact is broken again. For a moment, Minho’s mind is left to run with wonderings about what is to come, but then he feels it; a hand on his face. Minho knows what’s coming moments before it does. Three fingers are shoved in and out his mouth and Minho hardly has the time to lick at them before they've disappeared again. 

It takes a great deal of willpower not to touch himself as Kibum works those same, skilled fingers into him; Kibum’s expertly placed kisses and bites have brought Minho close to his limit already and he is not sure how much more of it he will be able to take. In the end, his resolve fails him and he makes to touch himself in time with the pulse of Kibum’s thrusts, but no sooner has his hand made it to the base of his erection than it is being trapped up against the wall.

“If you wanted,” Kibum murmurs against the shell of Minho’s ear, “You could have asked.”

Rather than carry out what Minho had meant to do, however, Kibum questions,

“Are you ready?”

Minho nods, near tears, so desperate for Kibum that he has half a mind to ask his lover to stand against the wall and fuck himself against his cock. The very idea makes him moan aloud again, untouched and waiting, and he hears Kibum laugh smugly.

When he takes his hips with both hands, Minho braces himself, but finds himself being spun around to face Kibum again, who hoists him up with some effort and props him against the wall. Minho knows this position; they’ve fucked like this countless times and he is all too happy to help Kibum with the weight by balancing himself around his waist and against the wall.

Kibum takes him in, hands locked around his thighs as Minho effortlessly moves his body to the right angle. This, he thinks, is one of the best part about dating a soccer player; flexibility, stamina, and lower body strength.

When at last he makes his move, it is a single, powerful thrust that pounds Minho against the wall and makes him release a throaty, primal sound that echos through the small, dark confines of the room. The pacing, the energy, is spiked from the residue of frustration Kibum feels, but the last of it begins to melt away, the anger in his senses being drowned in Minho’s fevered moans and sobs. Part of Kibum wants to tease Minho for it, but he knows nothing will change even if he does, and either way, the sounds making the effort of holding him this way all worthwhile.

From his perch, Minho can hear Kibum finally contribute to the din of the room. No touch, no kiss, bite or thrust ever worked so effectively at turning Minho on than the raspy, low sighs that tumbled from Kibum’s lips at moments like these. He wants to allow his neck to loll back, but it is far more stimulating to watch Kibum at work; his eyes closed, his brow knitted, his mouth slightly ajar as his hips slam into him, harder and faster as the minutes pass, concentration and desire etched upon his sharp face.

Minho starts to squirm in Kibum’s grasp, but regains composure long enough to right himself.

“Are you...okay?” Kibum pants out, voice raspy and chest starting to heave.

Minho nods, feeling the burning blush in his cheeks, his mind blurred at the edges. Even now, three years into a relationship and even longer having sex, Minho never tires of the way Kibum fucks him. Hard, earnest, completely filling, it is as if Kibum knows every single inch of Minho better each time.

Kibum’s hold on him falters as he reaches a climax calescent in heat and passion; his senses burn as he comes, just as hard and fast as the sex itself, his nails digging harshly into the skin of Minho’s muscled thighs. The pulsing sensation of Kibum’s orgasm within him, accompanied by the harsh, carnal sighs that accompany it, are too much for Minho, and he comes into the space between them, sticky ropes of ejaculate landing against his chest.

After Kibum has pulled out for the final time and returned Minho to his feet, he revels in his body of work. Minho, torso decorated in his own come, dark hickeys covering the lower half of his neck, his collarbones, and his torso, is the most beautiful thing Kibum has ever seen. He thinks he might go hard from the sight of it had he not just finished, so he saves the image in his head, thinking to himself that it will fill his fantasies for many nights to come.

“You’re a mess,” Kibum observes, and stoops to lick Minho’s torso. His tongue dances along every muscle, feeling his more prominent veins pulse with excitement in the aftermath of his orgasm, doing two things at once. Not only has he cleaned Minho off (somewhat), but he’s effectively marked his territory.

Standing upright, Kibum makes a point to look Minho in the eye as he swallows.

Minho gasps at this, and it is evident by the way his eyes glaze over that Kibum has him intrigued again.

Kibum catches what Minho wants plainly, but simply hands him his boxers and tells him,

“There’ll be time for that later, but you have a party to attend, remember?”

Minho looks at Kibum imploringly.

“I don’t want to!” he protests, “I just…”

“You just what?” Kibum presses, stepping back into his slacks.

“I just want you.”

Kibum smiles, his confidence boosting at the words. He presses a chaste kiss to Minho’s cheek.

“When we get home,” he promises in a whisper, “ _if_ you’re good.”

Minho doesn’t let anyone else near him that night.


End file.
